It's Hell Getting Old, but Go Ahead and Laugh

Mama who is 5'1" and her youngest grandson, Jackson, 6'4"

Well, it's here.  I turn 60 tomorrow.  But this post is not about my growing old.  What's on my mind is my mother.  She stayed with us for about 9 days,so that she could see doctors in Memphis for various conditions you might imagine an 87 year old might have.  I took her back to her house yesterday, and on the drive back to Memphis, I thought of the week we had had.  What stood out to me during all of her doctor visits and needle pricks is that she has a great sense of humor, and that has helped her through awkward medical moments, rude and cold nurses, and doctors' comments which would not win them any bedside manner awards.  I continue to be amazed at how harsh a diagnosis can sound just by the way it is worded.  And then there are the health care professionals that you would like to take out to dinner because you enjoyed your brief encounter with them so much.  And that's what is so concerning to me.  You wait and wait and wait ---in our case 3 1/2 hours for one appointment and 2 hours for another.   And you actually see the doctor a little over 10 minutes if you are lucky.  And most of us would prefer the doc to be kind and attentive for those 10 minutes.  ( and some are )  But I noticed when the bedside manner went south, Mama would go into lockdown.   I can't help but wonder how often that happens with other patients.   I can still tolerate a doc who is not the sweetest person on the block, but when you are old and tired, and you feel old and tired, I think the bedside manner is HUGE.   So, on the way back to my house, we would try to find something funny about the appointment, or how neither one of us could remember where the car was parked in the cavernous parking garage, and we would laugh.  Or we would pretend to reverse roles and show that doctor how to speak to a patient the right way.  I just wonder if health care professionals realize how much their attitude affects the attitude of their patients.  Some just don't "play well with others".  And it is disappointing, not to mention a heap of trouble to take a chance on another doctor who may or may not have the same personality drawbacks.  It just makes me think about how much more pleasant it would be to have an uplifting, positive doctor, nurse prac, or staff member accompanying you as you make your way out of this life.  Because the doctor's office is about the only place you go when you are elderly and you feel bad.    

So I'm hoping that if I make it in this life another 27 years, I will be able to laugh at myself and at the people who are foolish enough not to show empathy to an octogenarian who feels like crap.  

 "A cheerful heart makes good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones." Proverbs 17:22 

Do I hear an "Amen"?

Everybody Cut Footloose

   My whole family loves to dance: my sisters, my mom and dad, my kids and their kids.  I think it is so very cool to be able to express yourself that way.   My first memory of dancing was at the age of 5 out on the Blytheville, Arkansas football field at halftime with head majorette, Gail Brogdon, and loving every minute of it.  I took tap and ballet for more than 10 years at the infamous Rockie Smith Dance Studio and wanted to be Shirley Temple for most of my elementary school years. I danced a lot at home and put on my tap shoes almost every day just to hear them click on the floor.  My mother was always fussing about the scuff marks, but she continued to let me do it.
 When I got to junior high and high school, I really wanted to go to the dances, but back in my day, you had to have a date in order to participate, and that just wasn't happening for me.  I probably had less than a dozen dates in my entire high school career which was a huge disappointment socially, not to mention stifling my dance moves.  I love that kids go out in groups now.  You shouldn't have to have a guy ask you out in order to have some fun!  When I got to college, anybody who wanted a date could usually get one, but you had to take your chances.   And you could have the worst time of your life on a blind date---I know that first hand---but that's for another post. 
   We always had live bands at Ole Miss in the late 60s and early 70s, and part of the great football weekend tradition was to hop from fraternity house to fraternity house after the games.  Most of us loved the weekend live bands at Ole Miss better than almost anything.  You could walk up and down fraternity row and get into any party free.  The frat guys had a social chairman who would book some of the coolest local and regional  bands in the area.  I remember when one fraternity booked the "Hot Nuts", and they got into a lot of trouble, because the band's lyrics were considered lewd and distasteful according to the University.  Those lyrics were so extremely mild compared to the music lyrics of today.   Funny how some things evolve into worse.  
My husband, Clark, was and is a very good dancer.  He was at ease on the dance floor, and really enjoyed kicking up his heels.  During college, he would grab a girl, even if she had another date, and off to the dance floor they would go.   And one night, Clark evolved into "Chicken Man" because he could dance with that head moving like a chicken long  before the "Funky Chicken" came into being.   And the name, "Chicken",  stuck.  Lots of people including me still call him "Chicken", although I try to avoid it in business and family situations.  Until recently, if we were at a party and there was dancing, you can believe that Clark was one of the first and last on the dance floor, and any lady who wanted to dance (and some who weren't sure) would end up in front of the band with Clark.  It has been so much fun to be married to a guy who likes to dance. 
Anyway, we don't really dance as much as we used to.  We just like watching the younger folks at weddings and get togethers.  But on our last night in Alabama with all of the boxes packed, Clark cranked up the music on the patio speakers and we danced to Etta and a few others.  But you know what?  Beale Street is a few miles to the west of our house here in Memphis.   And we can get into B.B.King's without a fake ID anytime.  And it might be fun to go.  But I think I'll be watching.  I have seen people my age on the dance floor trying out the new moves, and it just isn't pretty.  Yep, I'll be having just as much fun tapping my foot.........well....... maybe.

Prove It.

 That's what we read online in preparation for obtaining a Tennessee driver's license: bring two documents that prove your new address and one proof of U.S. citizenship.  And that's what we took.  ha

We knew going in that the Tennessee Department of Safety is not the most efficient department in Tennessee.  We also knew we were going head to head with them, because there is no other way to get a new driver's license.  We were hoping to get it done with the least hassle possible.  yeah, right
  Clark took off work early, so we could get a head start on the Friday afternoon sixteen year olds.  We researched  online where to go and what to bring, so there would be no problems.  whatever
Mistake # 1. going to the nearest Tennessee Department of Safety Office suggested online--it is no longer open---- 20 minutes wasted
Mistake # 2. going to the NEXT nearest office and getting turned away because the line was already forming outside.  A young lady in line overheard us saying that we were new to Memphis, and she told us that we were about to REALLY miss being wherever we came from.  A little foreshadowing there, aaaaaand--- another 20 minutes wasted.
So we drive about 20 more minutes to another TDS office and arrive about 3:00.  We are already an hour behind before we begin!  We queue up and wait another 20 minutes just to get inside, but at least we do not get turned away here.  When we get to talk to a real person, she looks at our documents and tells us that I have the correct papers, but Clark does not.  We had brought our lease agreement with our signatures and new address, the change of address verification from the U.S.Post Office, and my personal credit card bill with our new address.  We also brought along our passports.  We thought that would do the trick and when the lady behind the desk who I will refer to from now on as the License Nazi, told Clark he did not have the correct documents, we were baffled.  You see, the U.S. Post Office document had only "Burnett" as the addressee and not our first names, so it didn't count as proof.  The credit card bill was in my name, so no luck there for Clark.
License Nazi:"Uh, do you have your marriage license?"
Clark:"No, I don't happen to have it on me."
License Nazi: "Well, if you had it, then you could prove that you were married to Mrs. Burnett, so that her credit card bill would be your other proof of residence."  Makes perfect sense, right?  Because Clark could have found that U.S. Post Office card that was mailed to us with the name Burnett on it  ANYWHERE, or he could have stolen it out of a mailbox or some such thing.  I mean COME ON!  But we can tell the License Nazi is not going to give in, so Clark asked how long they would be open so that he could make the 30 minute drive back home to get a copy of our marriage license and get back before closing. 
Mistake # 3:  I left my cell phone in the car because we were not allowed to bring them in, so once Clark left, I could not update him on how long it was taking  to get your number called. 
Mistake # 4:  Leaving my glasses at home. Since the cell phone was in the car with Clark making the trek to fetch the marriage license, there was no way to tell him to bring them back with him, in order for me to SEE TO PASS THE VISION TEST!
My number is finally called, and I go up to another section of the counter and this lady is very nice.  She makes copies of my documents and asks me to put my chin in the vision machine and I stall a little and then decide I'll just go with my prescription sun glasses, because, for heaven's sake, I don't want to stop this process, and there are lots of people still behind me licking their chops to have their turn.  I put on my shades, stick my chin on the rest, and begin to read the letters.  I miss one... or two.  The lady asks me to read another line.  I miss one... or two.  She tells me I have one more chance to read the line correctly, and by the grace of God, I nail it.  So now all I have to do is wait for my photo in yet another line, and of course, wait for Clark.......who is taking a very long time to get back.  
I keep looking at the door, and I'm watching people inching forward for their turn with the License Nazi, and I keep looking at the clock, because the Nazi told Clark the cut-off time was 4:30 and it is getting close to 4:00.  Finally, finally, Clark comes in looking a little distraught, so I join him at the counter thinking maybe he couldn't find our marriage license, but all was well.......or so I thought.  Here's how it went down: ( it's like something out of SNL ) 
Clark: "Here's my paperwork you said was necessary."
LN: "You are here too late.  We have closed for the day."
Clark:  "What? You're kidding, right?  You said you would be open till 4:30!  You said 4:30!"
LN: "Do I look like a fortune teller to you? I am not a fortune teller."  And she is not making eye contact---very bad sign.  "Too many people showed up and we are not taking any more today.  You can come back on Monday." ( I am about to jump in here, but Clark gives me the don't do it look.) 
Clark: "Look, you told me 4:30 and I am here a little after 4:00.  You knew I was going home to get the marriage license.  Couldn't you just let me in?"
LN: repeats the fortune teller line and then she says, "The lady in charge told me not to let anybody else in here and that's what I'm going to do."  
Clark: "Could I please speak to that lady, or could you tell her my circumstances?"  
LN: 'You don't want to talk to ME?" repeats question.... at which time I wanted to jump the counter.  But of course, that was just in my mind.  She could have taken me and besides, there was a policeman listening in and agreeing with the LN.  are you kidding?
So the LN went to the back, "checked" with whoever was in the driver's seat, and came back with a go ahead.  THANK GOODNESS for power over power mongers.  
By this time I had finished the entire process, and Clark had not begun. He and I watched practically every person finish and leave, but when his turn finally arrived, it went without a hitch.  So, we got what we came for......
Mistake #5: Thinking that we could get a driver's license in Memphis and walk away having had a good experience, because we were prepared.  We just weren't prepared for the License Nazi. 

Do You Have Your Blue Bag?

 This post is not for the person who is easily grossed out, so reader beware.  

The newspaper is delivered in a blue bag to our house every day around 6:30 A.M.  The first day I went out to get the news, I noticed my neighbor taking the blue bag off of the paper and stuffing it into her pocket.  I figured she was going to recycle it and thought nothing of it.  Well, the next day as I was walking Ellie girl, another neighbor stopped me and asked if I had my blue bag.  I told her that I had put it in the recycling bin and she replied,"Oh, no, we use them around here for our dog poo.  People get very upset if your dog poops in their yard, so we use our newspaper bags to pick it up."  And she showed me how to pick up  the poop, by turning the bag inside out. ( like I wouldn't have known that ) 

Now I TOTALLY get it that people don't want dog poop in their perfectly manicured carpet of a lawn. Really, I do.  Especially around here where there is not one blade of grass out of place.   Our neighbor's dog in Alabama was allowed to roam free, and he took a liking to our azalea bed, and when I weeded, it was disgusting, so I understand.  But here's the rub: Ellie's poop is rarely  "pickupable". She is a golden retriever with a sensitive stomach, and this is a new place, and when she gets nervous, her stomach is the first to go.  So, I'm finding myself RUNNING to the nearest common area (which by the way is still off limits to poop), saying over and over, "Come on, girl, you can make it, Ellie."  And we run and run and she looks over her shoulder at me like I am crazy.  I mean, we have just moved from the WOODS where a dog can find all KINDS of poop to sniff, and explore, and add to the variety with no bags attached.  I know this has to be some kind of torture for her, but imagine the  kind of walk I am having---it is so stressful.  Long gone are the strolls enjoying nature.   And for added stress,  I feel like everybody is watching us to see if we are following the "rules", and if Ellie makes a mistake, it will reflect on me.  You see, I'm a rule follower, and sometimes it comes back to bite me.  And I think this is one of those times.  I should just throw up my hands, and do the best I can, but I just know the neighbors are lurking near their windows ready to burst out of the door to chastise us if Ellie finds their yard the most attractive for her business.  So, I have resorted to practically dragging her to a semi-hidden spot, or a common area with trees and bushes to hide us.   And THEN, I am actually taking the blue bag out of my pocket and pretending to pick it up, because that's how paranoid I am.  And if I CAN manage to scoop the poop, who wants to continue on a walk with a big lump of smelly poop in the bottom of a bag swinging from your hand as you hit your stride?  Should I stuff it in my pocket?  I don't think so.  And guess, what?  I have done some lurking myself, and I am telling you that a WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE are walking their dogs with a blue bag full of, well, you know--I'd like to say what I'm thinking but I'm trying to keep this blog clean.  It's just not a relaxing or therapeutic way to start my day.  I guess you can take the dog out of the country but .....you know the rest.  And I guess that goes for me too.   

Anybody Here Seen My Old Friend Bobby?

When Clark was a senior at Tupelo High School, he went to Washington D.C. as a page for Congressman Jamie Whitten.  One of his duties was to make deliveries to various senators and congressmen.  On the occasion of his delivering legislative documents to Senator Robert Kennedy, he noticed that Sen. Kennedy's office was filled with beautiful young women.  Clark told me that every single assistant and receptionist was gorgeous. And it certainly made his trips to THAT office exceptional. Clark asked one of the beauties to get him a personalized signed picture of Senator Kennedy, and she obliged.  He has had that photograph of Bobby Kennedy hanging on his wall wherever he has lived.   When we moved here last week-end (has it been a week?) we began to pull out pictures that we knew we'd display here, and of course, Bobby made the cut.  But he was not with the photos he had been hanging with in Alabama.  He was not anywhere in any box.  We began joking about where the photo was, and we even left a space on the wall for it.  Every day we'd check with each other to see if Bobby had surfaced, and every day was the same.   I even opened the Christmas boxes just in case.  no Bobby

This weekend, our goal was to go through every single picture or photograph, categorize them, and box them back up with labels, so that we know where everything is when we move out of our "flat" we are leasing now.  We are purging, and "Goodwilling" and lending, and tossing, even though we thought we had done that on the other end. 
 This move has definitely had its moments of frustration. For instance, the piano would not fit up these stairs and we had to make a quick decision what to do with it, and our entertainment center was too big to go through the door, so we had to put it into storage. (The TV is now sitting on top of a trunk, college style.)  And when we realized we had lost the key to the secretary, Clark decided to go to several antique shops and old furniture stores borrowing keys rather than paying for a locksmith, leaving the contents of the secretary all over the living room.  And the defining  sad Memphis moment: I found out bluebirds do not live in the city of Memphis but in the rural areas only, which led to another mini-meltdown.  But good ole Clark has held strong during this move, and has not wanted to show any disappointment, because I have needed his shoulder to cry on.   BUT I have seen it on his face every time we unwrap a picture that is the same shape and size as Bobby, and it is NOT Bobby.  So we have just looked at each other and have gone on to the next box and laughed about it.  But today it was no longer funny.  It was really bothering him.  So to add a little humor, we started singing Dion's song.   And then Clark noticed .....next to the couch.....was a box that we had overlooked-----for DAYS.  There were some items on top of the box so we had not seen it.  Clark grabbed the box, unwrapped a rectangular shape, and out came Bobby.    We made a big production of hanging him back among his friends, and Clark had the biggest grin on his face.  And then I started wondering, did he really admire Robert Kennedy that much, or did the photo remind him of all of those beautiful women in Senator Kennedy's office?  Either way, I'm OK with it because when I walk down the hall, I look at Bobby and smile.  

Memphis vs Montgomery

I've had a lot of time to think while I'm opening and closing boxes, so I decided to compare these two cities and see what I come up with.  I have not really considered everything in both places yet, so I will be excited to see which one in my view wins out.  So, let's start:
Beauty: Montgomery-not so much, but Wetumpka is pretty. Memphis is a pretty city, so that's a wash.  
Job: loved my job in Montgomery ; don't have a job here yet, so for now Montgomery goes ahead by 1. O-1
Proximity to family: Memphis wins hands down. Both of our parents are within an hour or so of Memphis and my sister, Peggy, and her family live here.  Clark's son, Sam, is based out of here, though he's in China for the next two years.   We're even. 1-1
Proximity to airport: Well, Montgomery has an airport, but I rarely used it. Both flights I booked out of Montgomery were cancelled , so I missed my connection in Atlanta twice.  We always drove to Birmingham or Atlanta to catch a flight, and driving home was usually late at night.  It will be so nice to jump on a plane to visit my kids and their cute kids right here in the same town.   Montgomery gets a big 0 and Memphis goes ahead by 1.  2-1
Proximity to outdoor activities: I was shocked when we moved to Montgomery, because they really do not have a good park system.  There are very few places to take kids and dogs.  Memphis has my fave, Shelby Farms, and because it is big, there are lots of places to hike, bike, and explore.  You also have to drive your head off to get anywhere in the mountains from Montgomery.  The beach is closer, but we prefer the mountains.  -lots of mountains closer to Memphis-Memphis goes ahead another point.  3-1
Neighbors: We have never had such fabulous neighbors as we had in Wetumpka.  I would find it hard to believe that there is a neighborhood as friendly as the one we left.  I'm talking: cleaning your house when you have people coming to look at it (because you are out of town), walking your dog every day when you are at work, surprising us with dinners and desserts , mowing the yard when we were gone, dog sitting too many times to count, feeding Clark when I was out of town, shooting an occasional copperhead or timber rattler, and jumping in to help us mulch---just to name a few things.  And this is from a bunch of folks on the street--not just one family.  So I'm going to have to give 2 points to the old hood here, and the score is even.  3-3
Restaurants and Entertainment: Memphis is delicious. And there's more to do, but that's a little unfair because it's a bigger place, but still......  Memphis 4 Montgomery 3
Residence:  Those of you who have been reading my blog know that I am in critical condition having to move away from my house, gardens, and critters deep in the Alabama woods.  We have plopped down right in the city, with its bars on windows, security men 24/7, beautifully coiffed yards, complete with chemicals of every kind, and noises---oh, the noise!  Maybe Montgomery would have been just like that too, but we chose to live out from town in the woods, so I have  to compare what I know---so we are all tied up. 4-4
Clark's job: 10 minutes and lunch at home eclipses a 10 hour round trip once a month. Memphis 5 Montgomery 4
SEC Athletics: I don't know where to start here.  If you live in Alabama and you do not pull for either Auburn or Alabama, you are a semi-outcast.  Aaaaaannd if you happen to have attended another SEC school, like, uh say, Ole Miss, who is performing poorly and is looking like the worst team in Ole Miss history, you are a joke.  Their football means EVERYTHING to them. -- really-- Flags are still waving on cars way after football season is over--in fact, it's never over in Alabama. It seems if there's a get together, the conversation always drifts to Alabama or Auburn football.  I wonder if they know they have other sports teams at their schools.  One time I complimented an Alabama alum on a big win for their tennis team by telling her, "Congratulations on your beating Notre Dame this weekend  in the NCAA championship."  And she said, "Oh, you must be mistaken; football is over."  and so it goes.......
And another thing--Auburn and Alabama HATE each other more than any other interstate rivalry I've ever known.  And it's not pretty.  at all
So we are so glad to be in a city where there are lots of Ole Miss folks, and we can cry on each other's shoulders. Because there's gonna be lots of crying this year.  Yep, football season was a good time for us slip out of Alabama.
Memphis 6 Montgomery 4
Church:  We never seemed to plug into a church in Montgomery.  There were very sweet churches in the area with very good ministers and wonderful folks.  I don't know why we couldn't plug in.  Maybe because we were gone so much on the weekends visiting family that we just couldn't seem to be consistent in our attendance.   But we are really excited to hear that Maxie Dunnam is interim minister at Christ United Methodist in Memphis, and because we have attended there before, I think we will like it a lot.  So Memphis goes up another point.  Memphis 7 Montgomery 4


And, I'll stop here.  Looks like Memphis, for us, is a winner!!  And that's a good thing, because we're here now.  What I've learned in all my moves is that sincere, kind, generous people are everywhere.  You just have to get up and find them.  And as soon as I get these boxes out of this house, that's what I intend to do.   














  

Chikma! (I hope you are well)

Chief Tishomingo

We've moved. We've come full circle. Clark and I started our marriage here 10 years ago and were transferred with his job to Greenville, South Carolina within 6 months.  After being there for 5 years, we moved to Wetumpka, Alabama (outside Montgomery) where we lived for 5 years until now.  I should be used to moving, but it just seems to get harder!  Anyway, we made the transfer of all of our belongings and the leftovers of our adult kids to Bluff City, and we have been up to our ears in boxes for the past 3 days.  I grew up about 70 miles to the north and Clark grew up about 80 miles to the southeast, so Memphis is not foreign to us like some of our other moves.  I came here quite often as a child and had my firstborn, Leah, in the Methodist Hospital a few miles from where we are now.  So I will always have a soft spot for this city.  Which brings me to the name of our new street:  Tishomingo 
Because my high school mascot was the Chickasaws,--sorry, I know it is not politically correct to name mascots for native Americans--but I swear we really did not know that it was a bad thing--I had heard of the name Tishomingo before.  So Clark did some research and found out that Tishomingo was a Chickasaw chief, and was probably born in or around what is now Lee County, Mississippi, where Clark grew up.  He received the silver medallion from George Washington for fighting the Shawnee in the Old Northwest, and served in the war of 1812.  Now I don't know if he wanted to do that or not, but evidently he did a great job and then went back to farming, which is what he was doing before all the fighting.  Now here is that terrible part that is starting to become redundant as far as we Americans go----he was forced off of his land, even after he served his "new country" well, and was made to walk to Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears whereupon he died somewhere around what is now Little Rock, Arkansas. Oh, but he got a county, a park and a street named for him.  (Also the capital of the Chickasaw Nation in Oklahoma).  But that's it folks---do what you are asked to do and you get kicked in the pants--for 500 miles, on foot.  

Why do we do things like that?  He kept his end of the treaty, and he got nothing....
  One of the first people I have met is the guy who is in our front yard right now, cutting down a 100 year old tree.   A huge part of the trunk fell on the car of another man who was painting this house before our arrival.  Apparently, it squished the entire car while he was inside painting and he couldn't even get insurance coverage because it was an "Act of God".  Oh, I forgot to mention it was his mother's car.  Looks like folks are still getting kicked in the pants around here.  But here is home now, and we'll take it on the chin, (or wherever) if it comes our way.